Brides of Texas (19 page)

“
Empanadas
.” She smiled. “I’ll be sure you have some the next time I make a batch.”

“I confess, I would hae never thought the Germans and the Mexicans to hold much in common, but the cinnamon-sugar desserts and the polka sort of music are startlingly similar. In the end, ’tis fun to see how much alike we all are.”

She nodded. “I suppose it all boils down to a simple truth—we really all are the same. Young or old, blond or black-haired, we want to belong, to love, and to be loved.”

D
uncan, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Duncan ignored Christopher’s bellow and assisted Mr. Rundsdorf up the single step leading to his workshop’s porch. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I can come back later if this is a bad time.”

“Your timing couldn’t be better.” Duncan grinned. “Chris swears he canna stand all the frills that came wi’ the house kit. Just to keep him on his toes, I’ve been tacking up a piece in or on the house every now and again.”

Mr. Rundsdorf’s gaze roamed the workshop. “Your brother’s far ahead of you in the race.”

“He likes to think so.”

Chris stalked over. “Take it away by noon, Duncan, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

“You gave me all the gingerbread. ’Tis mine to do with as I please.”

“Bad enough we have enough scales to cover ten dragons on the outside of my house. Worse yet, you tacked a bunch of those stupid curlicue things together and hung them in the washroom.”

“I made a shelf for Mercy,” Duncan explained to Mr. Rundsdorf, who nodded in appreciation.

“But my bed?” Chris practically thundered the words.

“What did he do to your bed?” Mr. Rundsdorf asked.

Chris suddenly went ruddy.

“Dinna leave the man wondering.” Duncan nudged his brother. “Tell him.”

“He, uh…tacked something onto a post,” Chris muttered darkly.

“What was it?” Mr. Rundsdorf leaned forward.

Chris gave Duncan a murderous look. Duncan shrugged. “Dinna give me that scowl. You’re the one who decided to bellow. The least you could do is answer the gentleman’s question.”

“I don’t feel like it.” Chris rested his fists on his hips.

“Then I will.” Duncan turned to the old man.

“He stuck a birdhouse on my bedpost!” Chris sounded livid. “Seeing it first thing in the morning was enough to ruin my whole day.”

Duncan happened to glance across the street. Carmen stood in her garden. She held her hand clapped over her mouth, and he knew she’d heard every last word booming out of Chris. “I tell you what, Chris. I’ll let you take down the birdhouse on two conditions: Carmen has to approve of it and you hang it over at her house.”

“Done.” Chris stalked off.

Duncan made a sweeping gesture. “Come on inside, Mr. Rundsdorf. I’ve got the brace all ready for you.” A moment later, he threaded a strap through the device he’d created after conferring with Rob on the design. “The sheepskin ought to keep it from rubbin’ you. If you feel a wider pad would help, dinna hesitate to tell me.”

Mr. Rundsdorf wiggled his twisted torso within its new confines. He let out an appreciative sigh. “I can tell already this is going to work.”

No brace in the world would ever begin to correct the man’s deformity. Duncan didn’t pretend otherwise. “Rob said the support might bring you some comfort.”

“Unh-huh.” Rundsdorf buckled the last strap into place. “Stamina, too—not that I expect this contraption to turn me into a schoolboy. But if I can stay up for two or three hours at a time, it’ll be twice what I can do now.”

Duncan picked up the misshapen shirt and held it for Mr. Rundsdorf to slide into.

“I’m twisted as mesquite.”

“I’d never seen mesquite until I came to America. ’Tis a rare beautiful shrub.”

A rueful bark of a laugh left the man.

Duncan went on to defend it. “Mesquite’s got character. I’ve admired many a piece of furniture or bowl made from the wood. If that’s not enough, the wood burns slow, and the flavor its smoke lends to Texas barbecue—” Duncan waggled his brows.

“I never thought of it that way.”

“God made mesquite, just as He made pines and oak. He took pleasure in His creation and said it was good. If He took pleasure in that, how much more must He love a son who strives to live to serve Him?”

Rundsdorf stopped buttoning his shirt and gawked at him. A slow smile spread across his pain-etched face.

“I’m planning on having to fiddle wi’ the brace so we can get a perfect fit. Dinna be shy about telling me what feels odd or where it puts too much pressure.”

“It’s perfect as it is.”

“Aye, and I’ve heard the selfsame thing from plenty of folks when first they tied on a pair of shoes. ’Tisna just the fit when a body is at rest that matters. Pressure and rubbing are bound to happen—and that’s when you discover the difference between bliss and a blister.”

Fastening the last of his buttons, Mr. Rundsdorf cleared his throat. “You didn’t say how much this cost.”

The man needed to keep his pride, so Duncan gave him the answer he’d already made up. He swept his arm to encompass his workshop. “I used nothing but scraps and wee bits and pieces. They cost me next to nothing.”

“But your time—”

“Has some value. I grant you that. But I wanted to help a brother in Christ, so here’s what I’ve decided. More than a few men have said you’ve a talent with wood. In your spare time, using nothing but scraps, why don’t you make something for my shop?”

“What do you need?”

Duncan let out a shout of a laugh. “That all depends on who you’re listenin’ to. Chris thinks I need ambition. Rob says I suffer from the affliction of clutter and wouldna recognize order if it bit me. My sister-in-law is the most dangerous of all. She’s of the opinion that I need a wife.” Duncan chuckled along with his customer. “Me? I’m content just as I am.”

Rundsdorf looked pensive. “It must be nice to feel that kind of peace.”

“The apostle Paul wrote of it—e’en whilst in jail. ’Tisna the circumstances a man finds himself in that matter. God is present with us and loves us. All we have to do is open our hearts to him.”

“Like Sunday’s hymn, ‘Just as I Am.’ ”

“Aye. And I canna help believing that since He takes us just as we are, then the grace He bestows ought to flow through us—not only to others but to ourselves. As for me, I’ve found when my heart’s in tune with Him, He can fix my flaws.” Duncan let out a diffident chuckle. “I’ve faults aplenty, so I keep the Almighty busy. But I’m content to serve God to the best of my ability.”

“I’m thankful you do.” Rundsdorf smoothed his hand over the front of his shirt. His fingers bumped up and down as they passed over portions of the brace. “Maybe that contentment is contagious.”

Later that afternoon, Duncan worked out on the porch. He looked up and bolted to his feet. In a matter of seconds, he’d crossed the street and yanked a bucket from Carmen’s hand. “What are ye doin’, woman?”

She turned three shades of red.

Duncan reconsidered his question. He’d allowed her no privacy. “I meant to ask, ‘Why are you hauling water up these stairs and into your house?’ ”

“My pump broke.”

“And you didna ask for help?”

“I’ll ask Otto after church tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be willing to come look at it next week.”

“Nonsense.” Duncan stomped up the last steps and plowed into her house. “Did the pump just suddenly stop working, did it sprout a leak, or what happened?”

Carmen stayed in the doorway. “The handle’s been getting stiff, and suddenly the works just stopped.”

Duncan nodded and thumped the water onto her stove. He paused a second to appreciate her kitchen. Mercy kept their kitchen neat as a pin. The white cupboards and gingham curtains looked cheerful. In contrast, Carmen’s kitchen was an explosion of color and scents. Chili peppers hung in exotic-looking spills from lengths of twine. Garlic did, too. The hutch held a cheerful display of red, yellow, green, and blue dishes that matched the same hues as the brightly striped cloth running down the center of the table. The place felt as vibrant as its owner.

“Thank you for carrying the water.”

Duncan cast a glance at the red pump. “I’ll take a look and see what’s wrong with your pump.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Duncan leveled a stare at her and slowly crooked a brow. “Why is it you can run all over the county, feeding and helping everyone else, but you shy away from accepting any help in return?”

“It’s not that way.”

“Oh? And how does this differ?”

“To begin with, it’s not proper!”

Duncan made an exasperated sound. “I’m going to grab some of my tools. While I’m gone, gather up your sewing or some such thing. Whilst I’m here repairing the pump, you can sit out on the veranda.” From the way she winced, Duncan gathered he’d spoken with more force than diplomacy. He softened his tone into a teasing lilt. “That way, you can admire your new birdhouse.”

As he worked on the pump, Duncan’s mood darkened. Carmen sat out on the veranda sewing a shirt for some little boy. The next-door neighbor called over and suggested that Carmen might think about taking supper to a certain family since the mother was ailing. Yet another woman appeared and dropped off her baby and a cranky toddler so she could go to the mercantile. She’d no more than retrieved her children before another woman dropped off three.

Duncan cleaned up his mess, washed his hands, and dumped his tools back into a box. It wouldn’t be right to speak to Carmen about it in front of anyone. The next time he caught her alone, he was going to say something. Just because she had a big heart and a willing spirit didn’t mean she ought to work herself into an early grave by doing favors for everyone in Texas.
I’m going to tell the lass she’s a blessing to all who know her, but she canna let people take advantage of her
.

“I made empanadas.” Carmen stood by Duncan’s shop and extended a basket of the sweets to him.

He wiped his hands on a rag, then leaned over and took one. “One of these days, when Elspeth isna wakenin’ Mercy every other hour, you’ll hae to show Mercy how to make these.” He took a bite and closed his eyes with a hum of appreciation.

“You don’t need to wait until then to have more. Any time you’d like empanadas, just ask me.” Carmen set the basket on a nearby table.

Duncan’s eyes popped open. “I’d ne’er do such a thing!”

Stinging from his tone, Carmen stepped back. Her foot landed poorly, and she struggled to keep her balance. Duncan wrapped his hand about her upper arm, stabilizing her. The way he shook his head made her heart plummet. The one thing she couldn’t bear was for people to pity her.

“What kind of man would I be, making demands of you? You’re a friend and neighbor, not a servant.”

“It’s because we’re friends and neighbors.” She pulled away from his touch. “You fixed my pump and gave me a birdhouse. You fixed my roof last week, too. I’m returning a favor because you said you like empanadas.”

Duncan held the other half of the treat up between them. “Dinna mistake me, Carmen. This is a fine mouthful, but on occasion when I come o’er and help out, ’tis without expectation of getting anything in return.”

“I know.” She wasn’t willing to leave the topic. “Just as when I bring your family something, I’m not hoping to talk you into doing a chore for me.”

“Fair enough.” He finished the other bite. Like a small boy who didn’t want to miss the last little taste, Duncan licked the cinnamon sugar from his lips. He was such a man of contrasts—so mature and wise at one moment, only to be delightfully childlike the next instant. Though huge and strong, he exhibited a gentleness that evoked a sense of trust.
He’s such a fine man. Handsome, too. The next wedding will probably be his. Any woman would be delighted to have such a husband
.

“I’ve been meanin’ to talk with you about something.”

“Would you mind too much if we discussed it later? I need to be over at the Rayburns’ in an hour or so.”

“ ’Twill only take a moment.” He nodded toward a chair. Once she sat down, he folded his arms across his chest. “A man could get dizzy watching you going to and fro all day.”